Lost within a choice

The imaginary hole grew larger every day, expanding outward and downward, as if an invisible worker used an invisible shovel to slowly remove layers of dirt from the walls inside...

I had planted myself in the center like a seed, hoping answers would grow and that growth would lead to understanding... or for someone to simply tell me why I belonged there.

I did belong there.

Like any person under arrest without knowledge of the charges against them, I sat waiting to be formally notified of something...

Being in that mental trench was the only way to deal with the familiar pain of loss. But as strong as that feeling cycled through layers of emotion, I hadn't lost anyone lately. Yet, it visited me several times a week, shackling my attention to an unknown source.

Our family physician, Dane Russo, strongly felt I was going through a bout of postpartum depression. But this feeling, this new, dreadful sensation, didn't begin until my newborn was almost eight months old. I was stuck wondering why the condition would wait that long to settle in.

Brittany wasn't my first child. Even after previously bringing two sons into this world, I never once experienced depression; happiness was my general way of life.

After a dozen minutes of skimming through a list of symptoms and causes, I crossed the assumption off. I wasn't depressed. But something was amiss, returning me to that place too often, wondering what landed me there every time...

***

In the middle of putting the final touches on a painting yet to be named, I received a call from Dane. His voice was distant, informal, making me feel like I was only a client of his and had not grown into a friend. He asked how soon I could visit his office. Whatever the issue or concern was, he shied away from discussing it over the phone. Mystified, I drove the ten miles to see him two days later...

*

"Ella, so glad you could make it. Please have a seat. Coffee? Water? Soda?"

"Oh, no thank you. I'm fine."

I really wasn't fine, being caught between several daydreams involving scenarios of why I was there to begin with; my place of mystery followed closely behind.

"How's Brittany doing? I bet she's keeping you busy."

"She's good... And you're absolutely correct. She's busy all the time. She still can't say her name correctly and calls herself, Beebee. It's cute and hilarious." I said while settling in a red, leather chair, placing my purse beside it.

"She must be a bundle of joy to wake up to... She's actually who I want to talk to you about."

"What? Is she okay? Did you find something wrong from her last visit?"

"No no no... She's fine! In fact, her tests came back with flying colors... You sure you don't want anything to drink?"

"Okay, now you're scaring me, Dane. If you know something about my little girl, then please just tell me."

"Well... Ella...to put things bluntly... you did not give birth to her."

"Come again? Trust me, I was there pushing and screaming and swearing the whole time until she was born."

"Yes... You gave birth to a child, but not Brittany. There was a mix up and two mothers received the wrong baby from the nursery. As much as it hurts me to say, you were one of them."

A blank stare solidified across my face before fainting right there in his office chair...

Immediately, I found myself falling backwards in a dark hole. I landed softly on my back, noticing daylight and bare, tree branches towering over the opening above...

No longer confined to the realms of figurative speech, I was literally there, in that hole I built. Faint laughter of a child could be heard echoing off the dirt walls, prompting a scan of the area while pressing my hands against the soft soil readying to stand up. But any movement I made sank me deeper into the soil. I panicked, causing my legs, torso and elbows to go under. I kept sinking until my eyes were the last thing left to watch dirt folding in over them, canceling the last rays of light.

I'd fallen through layers of earth into a different scene...

Wherever I went, the view was hazy and fragmented. Rather quickly it focused into swing sets, slides and seesaws on a beautiful sunny day. Brittany and another little girl were the only two there playing in a sandbox. I quietly sat on the wooden edge and watched with smiling eyes, never questioning if this was real. Slowly, their interaction became rambunctious. They began throwing sand at each other. Before I could tell them to play nice, they turned to look at me, and at the same time said, You're not my mommy. The immediate shock of those words sprung me out of the persuasive illusion.

Awakening in the office chair, a nurse was fanning me with a large, manilla envelope while Dane tightened the cap on a bottle of smelling salts. I shooed her away, flared my nose and began shooting daggers at him with squinting eyes. I clenched my jaws tightly. My mind jumbled and couldn't arrange words to speak. With a look full of concern, Dane pulled up a chair and sat close to me...

Every word flowing out his mouth may as well have been in a foreign language because none of them registered meaning. I looked straight through Dane and all I could see was Brittany looking at me with those brown eyes the way she does.

How could this have happened?

I entered an entirely different hole right after closing the previous one—finally discovering what had been wrong with me. Whether it was maternal instincts or intuition, the undisclosed reality kept my emotion detector on high alert...

But it was only the beginning...

Dread followed me like a clingy cat, knowing I had to share the disturbing news with Ethan, my husband. He could tell something new was wrong with me. Spouses always know.

Avoiding it for more than two days because of worrying how he would react, I finally told Ethan that Brittany wasn't ours, biologically. That a deranged nurse had switched our child with another. He dropped a plastic container full of paint supplies to the floor, experiencing the same shock as I did without fainting himself. Instead, Ethan demanded answers! Immediate answers and claimed malpractice all day. I convinced him to calm down. We needed to have a serious talk, requiring committed attention.

Evidently, our minds didn't come equipped with a rational solution. We loved Brittany with every cell in our bodies, but on a different slope of consideration, what about our own flesh and blood? The child living only in our thoughts?... Living with other parents who hopefully loved her dearly.

A child who I only held in my arms once...

All of this created a devastating conundrum. A headache that showed no signs of going away. A choice unhappily wedged between a mass of polarized emotion...

Ethan's temper was unstable at first. He definitely wanted to get to the bottom of this, hoping to find our 'real' daughter. I wanted the same. But I did not want to be faced with a child swap. The very idea broke me to tears every time.

Legally, we were obligated to meet the parents and come to a mutual agreement. The problem, which thankfully bought precious time, was the parents had moved to Barcelona and could not be reached by the Oakland Medical Center; I needed as much time as I possibly could to contemplate giving Brittany up. Selfishly, I wanted both kids but knew that wasn't fair or going to happen.

We were told we could pursue tracking the parents on our own time or hire a private detective to find them. We sat on the possibilities indefinitely, giving all our children more attention than they were used to.

***

In August of 97’, we drove our little Brittany to college. Although we wondered at first why she had wavy, black hair and the rest of us were blond, she was ours. Our family unit would have collapsed without her. Human attachment to our children happens quick. Once attached, there's no way of turning off the love. We had to keep her. Ethan and I couldn't see any other way.

I do still wonder what our other little girl's name is and who she turned out to be. And if she's having a good life with loving parents. Most importantly, if any of them know of their family secret...